"You're He Heng. I've heard about you from Wang Chao and Old Ba. They said your fist was the most likely to make you Number One Under Heaven." Under everyone's gaze, Chen Aiyang looked at He Heng impassively and spoke softly, his expression perfectly calm.
"What? Wang Chao said he could be Number One Under Heaven? Who is this He Heng?" A hubbub broke out across the arena, and people cried out in surprise.
Who was Wang Chao? He was the strongest martial artist in Southeast Asia, and was known as Number One Under Heaven—a title almost universally acknowledged.
And now, a man like him had actually said that this unknown nobody before them was the most likely to become Number One Under Heaven!
For a moment, the many martial arts masters present were stunned, then a flicker of excitement stirred within them. They had thought this Martial Dao Convention would hold no suspense, that it was fated to be a showdown between God and Wang Chao. But now He Heng had appeared, adding a new variable to the mix.
"Chen Aiyang isn't making that up, is he?" People began talking among themselves, glancing at Wang Chao, who sat high above them on the platform. He had remained silent ever since He Heng appeared, and many took that silence as confirmation.
"This just got interesting. If Chen Aiyang really is facing him, he's probably in for a rough time." "No, if he dared to step up, he must have some confidence." Many people whispered among themselves.
On the platform, He Heng paid no attention to their words. He fixed Chen Aiyang with a cold gaze. "If you know who I am, why did you still step into the ring? I won't hold back today."
"Training in martial arts is like rowing upstream: if you don't advance, you fall behind. Without fighting someone like you, I'll never make further progress. Besides, it won't be that easy for you to kill me." Chen Aiyang replied with composure.
"Good. Then I'll give you what you want." He Heng looked at Chen Aiyang with a hint of approval. The man did have a fine temperament, but his luck was poor.
In the original Dragon Snake, he had met God at this very Martial Dao Convention. He hadn't backed down, and his opponent had beaten him to death. This time, he had run into He Heng instead. Normally, He Heng might have spared him, but not today.
He Heng gave him a cold look. His Blood Qi surged like a rushing river and roaring tide. Even an ordinary person could hear the sound of his blood coursing through his body. His aura swelled without limit, vast and overwhelming.
In a flash, He Heng struck. He went all out from the very first move, delivering a killing blow. Wielding the Great Dao Formless Fist, he conjured the image of heaven and earth being split apart, giving rise to earth, water, fire, and wind as his attack engulfed Chen Aiyang in an instant.
The moment He Heng gathered his strength, Chen Aiyang felt an invisible pressure crash down on him like mountains collapsing and seas surging. The pressure was unmistakable in his mind. He Heng stood as tall as he did, yet Chen Aiyang felt like a tiny dwarf facing a two-meter-tall giant, strong as an iron tower.
The feeling gave rise to an instinctive certainty that he could not fight back.
This is exactly what I need. Only under this kind of pressure can I unleash my full potential and break through the final barrier of the martial path. Chen Aiyang's gaze remained calm, but a hint of delight suddenly welled within it. The instant He Heng struck, he struck as well.
Whoosh!
In the blink of an eye, he bent his back, drew his heart inward, and stepped back. Then he spun around in a wide turn, using Flying Swallow Returns to Nest to evade the attack.
Hiss! Hiss!
Two sounds like silk ripping rang out in quick succession.
The clothes on Chen Aiyang's upper body seemed to have been cut apart by scissors, strips of fabric flying through the air. At the same time, a clear fist print appeared on his chest, complete with distinct fingerprints.
It had been imprinted there by the force of He Heng's punch.
Although Chen Aiyang had dodged the blow, he had come within just an inch and a half of being hit. The fist wind had struck his chest with tremendous force, tearing his clothes and leaving deep fingerprints behind.
Still, Chen Aiyang was a Core Strength master. A mere gust of fist force could not hurt him.
He took a breath, and the fist print on his chest vanished as his Blood Qi surged through his body.
With a single exchange, He Heng had shown just how powerful he was—his ferocious strength seemed impossible to stop.
In that single exchange, Chen Aiyang, a renowned grandmaster from Nanyang, had nearly been struck by the force of He Heng's fist. The fierce wind had torn his clothes and left clear prints on his skin. Though his Blood Qi had erased the marks in the space of a breath, the blow had already made one thing clear: beneath He Heng's fists, Chen Aiyang's life was like a lone lamp in a raging storm, ready to go out at any moment.
To the eyes of true experts, that was enough to pronounce Chen Aiyang's death sentence. The gap between them was too great; Chen Aiyang had no hope of winning.
"Is a Fist Technique grandmaster who's embraced the elixir really going to wither away like this?" Yan Yuanyi, Liu Mubai, Zhu Hongzhi, Feng Cai, and the others all felt for Chen Aiyang. His strength was nothing to scoff at; he had simply met an opponent he could not defeat. They pitied him, but they also remembered He Heng's name. He was a powerhouse who could stand alongside Wang Chao and God—and might even surpass them.
Yet as they sighed, both He Heng and Chen Aiyang entered a profound, deep state of mind.
After dodging He Heng's killing blow with the spinning footwork of Flying Swallow Returns to Nest, Chen Aiyang took a deep breath and completely calmed himself. Then he entered a state of meditation. Once he had settled his mind, a feeling of great serenity rose up within him.
In that instant, his state of mind changed. Chen Aiyang seemed to grasp the thoughts of everyone present, as well as their changing belief that he could die at any moment.
Everyone except Wang Chao, God, Ba Liming, and Tang Zichen.
"Only after settling can one become still; only after becoming still can one find peace." He Heng's voice rang out once more, unhurried. "Chen Aiyang, you're impressive. You actually managed to reach a state of great serenity in the middle of a fight. It seems I'll have to put in a little more effort."
As he spoke, He Heng moved again. He lunged at Chen Aiyang, his speed surpassing the limits of what the naked eye could follow, leaving a trail of afterimages. He was faster than anything else!
His foot lightly tapped the ground, and he shot upward with a thunderous leap. In midair, he threw a simple punch that pierced straight through.
Chen Aiyang stepped backward and sank his Well Rail hand posture downward. His mind was now in a state of great serenity. He knew the tremendous power He Heng held in reserve, and that he could not withstand it head-on. But he had his own way of borrowing force to overcome force.
His whole body shuddered; his mind set his strength in motion, sending it through his arm. Thump! His arm suddenly opened wide. The square, rigid arm of the Well Rail Style abruptly became round and smooth. His arms and elbows seemed to embrace a huge ball, and as they expanded and contracted, they filled with astonishing spring and elasticity.
The moment He Heng touched the roundness of his arm, he was sent skimming backward, five or six meters above the ground.
Of course, it wasn't He Heng who flew, but Chen Aiyang himself.
Chen Aiyang had rounded out the rigid, square shape of the Well Rail Style. His whole body seemed to have become a highly elastic ball. At the slightest application of force, he bounced a great distance. So when he met He Heng's incomparable power, his whole body sprang away in an instant.
"Hmm? Good. Tai Chi Round Punch."
He Heng's heart stirred. Even he seemed a little surprised. Just now, when his reverse-winding, twisting strike hit Chen Aiyang's arm, it had felt like striking a ball. Chen Aiyang's skin and body seemed filled with air, like a sphere a hundred times tougher than a ball. No matter how violently it was struck, it only bounced away. The greater the force, the farther and harder it sprang—but it would not burst.
This was one of the most miraculous and secret techniques in Taiji Fist: the Round Punch. It transformed the hard force of Taiji Fist into something pliant, like "a hundredfold-refined steel made soft around the fingers." Only a master of the highest martial arts realm could produce such subtle, perfectly rounded force. This technique transformed Taiji's vibrating hardness into softness and spring. It lacked offensive power, but could keep its practitioner undefeated.
He Heng shifted his feet, closed in, and unleashed another fierce barrage. The battle was still under his control. He dictated its pace throughout and held the upper hand, while Chen Aiyang had no chance to counterattack and could only endure his blows.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang... In three seconds, a string of explosive sounds rang out, like blows landing on a giant ball. He Heng and Chen Aiyang had already exchanged dozens of moves.
Each of He Heng's attacks was met by Chen Aiyang, whose body then bounced away. He Heng would pursue him like a shadow and strike again, sending him flying once more.
A ball could be elastic, but if it took more force than it could withstand, it would burst. He Heng's full strength was an unimaginable terror.
Finally, about ten seconds after the fight began, He Heng's finger landed with a thunderous blow on the Baihui Acupoint at the crown of Chen Aiyang's head.
In this world without spiritual energy, battles between Martial Dao Experts relied entirely on the explosive power of the body. Fights were always over in an instant; they were nothing like the battles that could last for days and nights in certain high-martial worlds.
The Baihui Acupoint at the very center of the crown was where a hundred spirits converged. Even the slightest touch could kill a person. With He Heng's strength, Chen Aiyang's fate was easy to imagine.
Yet Chen Aiyang did not fall. His expression remained calm and composed as he stood there, slowly lifting his head and lowering his hands.
He Heng, too, looked at him calmly. Their eyes met. Then Chen Aiyang slowly sat down, crossed his legs, and rested his hands on his knees. He looked free and unrestrained. With a faint smile, he closed his eyes.
The moment his eyes closed, his breathing, heartbeat, pulse, blood circulation—all signs of life—came to an end.
Hear the Dao in the morning, and die content by evening!
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